


Pushing (Alternate)

by ScullyGolightly



Series: Pushing [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Rough Sex, Sex, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 04:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyGolightly/pseuds/ScullyGolightly
Summary: I couldn't stop thinking about the angry sex, so I did an alternate version of 'Pushing.' The beginning is exactly the same and diverges after "They held a heated gaze, both challenging the other to make the next move."If you haven't read the original 'Pushing,' this is kind of a choose-your-own-adventure situation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about the angry sex, so I did an alternate version of 'Pushing.' The beginning is exactly the same and diverges after "They held a heated gaze, both challenging the other to make the next move."
> 
> If you haven't read the original 'Pushing,' this is kind of a choose-your-own-adventure situation.

He found her in the crowded bar. She was pulling the label off of her Shiner Bock when he squeezed in between the bar stools that were occupied beside her.

 

“Don’t you know that’s a sign of sexual frustration?” he said.

 

She looked up at him. She was drunk and not a happy drunk. She was, indeed, sexually frustrated. Although, the term seemed too mild for whatever she was at the moment. After six years of sexual frustration combined with tragedy and heartbreak, it was more like a clinical sexual depression.

 

“Thanks for the psychological observation,” she grumbled as she continued to pick at it.

 

He sighed and leaned on the bar with both elbows. He wasn’t sure if this was the best time to try to reduce the chasm that had developed between them. Maybe he should just let her wallow in peace or maybe he can pick at her like she was picking at that label.

 

He had tried to revert back to his flirting and innuendo-slinging since they’ve been back on the X-Files, but the Diana debacle had created too much of a rift for it to be that simple. By the end of their undercover case he realized what a huge problem it had become. He watched as she stoically kept her distance as he made married jokes and took advantage of their covers. Looking back, he saw that it was insensitive to sweep it all under the rug and act like none of it had happened. He had rationalized that aside from one almost kiss in his hallway, they were not romantically linked, and she had no right to be jealous.

 

Then he thought about his behavior regarding Jerse. Hadn’t he done the same thing? And the almost kiss hadn’t even happened at that point. The absence of a consummation by sex or even a simple kiss does not invalidate their relationship. There is something there. Something absolute. Perhaps even more profound than an average relationship because it had sustained through so much and for so long without the sex. Sexual tension, yes. They had that in spades.

 

All of this made him more certain than ever that it was time to bust through her walls and make up for his lapse of good judgement. He knew that he made her feel like he stopped caring about her at some point and he will never forgive himself for doing that. Just add it to the long list of things which he can’t absolve. Will he ever learn? Or is he doomed to hurt the only person he loves who is doomed herself because she can’t bring herself to leave?

 

“Another observation: it’s quite uncharacteristic of you to go solo drinking on a work night.”

 

“I’m celebrating,” she responded, despondently.

 

“I’m afraid to ask.”

 

“God, you’re dense. My Irish heritage. It’s St. Patrick’s Day.” She gestured animatedly around at the bar.

 

“Well, yeah, I know that. Uh…” He was at a loss. He knew it was fucking St. Patrick’s Day. She was going to make him work and she had every right to. She was drowning her sorrows after spending another day in the presence of her asshole partner who decided to make a move way too late in the game after being careless with her heart.

 

“So everyone is Irish today, then. Even me. Can I join you?” he asked, meekly.

 

“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” she said and rolled her eyes.

 

The bartender nodded to Mulder.

 

“Two green beers!” he shouted.

 

Scully winced at his volume. “Uuugh,” sighed Scully, rolling her eyes again and ending with a glare to her partner. She brought the bottle to her lips and downed the remaining third of its contents. Scully set it down on the bar with a bang and then rubbed her face with her hands.

 

What the fuck was he doing here? Was she not allowed to entertain her self-pity? She knew she should have just gone home with a bottles of wine and a pint of ice cream. He would’ve found her there, too. How did he find her here, anyway? He could be so damn frustrating. Finding her when she doesn’t want to be found and not being there when she craved him.

 

She wouldn’t let herself dwell too much on her hasty decision-making. She needed to get laid and she would have to be drunk enough to stop her brain from thinking about it. It wasn’t smart, she knew, but even the brilliant Dr. Dana Scully was allowed some recklessness every now and then. She came here with the intention of finding a drunken one night stand, but as she started drinking, her sadness deepened. She abandoned her plan of fucking to forget and settled on drinking to forget.

 

The bartender set down two steins of green, frothy beer in front of them. Scully scrunched her face at them.

 

“Are you trying to catch up with me?”

 

“No, one is for you.”

 

“That’s just cheap beer with food coloring, Mulder. Why would I want to drink that?”

 

“To be festive? Your ancestors never drank green beer?” he teased. “And besides, you seem too drunk to care about the quality of the beer.”

 

She narrowed her gaze at him. “I am not drunk.”

 

“Fine, I’ll drink them,” he said, defeated.

 

She could strangle him right now. Ok, yes, she was kind of drunk, but the fact that he said it so cockily irritated her to no end.

 

“Maybe if I get ‘not drunk,’ too we could let our inhibitions down and actually fucking talk about things.” As soon as the sentence left his lips he regretted it. This was exactly how _not_ to engage her on the subject.

 

His words hit her square in the chest and it felt as if the wind was knocked out of her. She didn’t know how to respond—she was feeling so many different things. She was angry and relieved. She was shameful and hopeful. It took a lot of effort not to react. She was wholly unprepared to go down this road with him tonight. She had been planning on one more beer, a cab ride home, and a sad solo session with her vibrator, after which she would cry herself to sleep. But, this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She wanted to talk with him and get things off her chest. It’s just now her brain was dulled by the booze. She panicked as she watched this opportunity slip through her fingers.

 

Mulder was also panicking. He couldn’t believe _that_ was how he chose to open the lines of communication. He gulped his beer, awkwardly, trying to think of a follow-up remark, but was coming up empty handed.

 

“Well, fuck me. I didn’t realize you wanted to talk this whole time. You inexplicably trusted this woman who has obvious ties to your enemy, _our_ enemy, and then told me not to make it personal. If it’s not fucking personal, Mulder, then what do we have to say to each other?” she bristled.

 

Ok, apparently she was going to handle it that way. There was no going back now.

 

Mulder nodded and took another long sip of his beer. He deserved that, but he didn’t know how to respond to it. He didn’t know how to respond then, either, so he had behaved like an idiot.

 

She took his silence as an invitation to keep going. Somewhere inside the sober, sane part of her tried to cry out and tell her to leave it be.

 

“You can be a real asshole, you know. I’m not sure why I put up with it and I’m not sure why I let the countless selfish things you do bother me. D’you know why I’m here tonight, Mulder? Getting tanked, alone, in a place I thought you wouldn’t find me?” It was a rhetorical question and she knew he knew that, but she looked at him expectantly anyway.

 

He was too ashamed to look back at her, but he could feel her eyes boring into him.

 

She couldn’t read his face. It was expressionless and it was infuriating her. He motivated a dialogue and now that she was talking, he refused to respond?

 

He felt her face come close to his, the heat of her breath against his cheek as she hissed, “I came here to find someone to fuck me since all you do is fuck me over.”

 

A chill came over him and seemed to freeze the blood in his veins. Somewhere inside the rational part of him hoped she was saying this just to get a rise out of him, but that hope stayed buried beneath layers of senseless rage and jealousy.  

 

He turned to her, grabbing her arm roughly, and swore he saw wicked excitement flash in her eyes.

 

“Goddamn it,” he grunted through gritted teeth.

 

They held a heated gaze, both challenging the other to make the next move.

 

“Uh, excuse me,” said an unfamiliar voice. They turned to see a dark-haired woman standing next to them. “Can I squeeze in here and order a drink?”

 

Mulder dropped Scully’s wrist, and made room for the woman. He did not hide his annoyance at her intrusion. Scully was only slightly annoyed. Mulder’s aggressiveness sparked some excitement inside of her. Playing with him like that had been a rush. Not that she was really playing with him—she had meant every word of what she said. But, finally saying those things was freeing, and getting a rise out of him when it’s usually the other way around was refreshing.

 

The woman scooched in toward the bar, and made a point of making eye contact with Scully. She had been seated at a table, watching her since before the man came in, trying to work up the nerve to buy her a drink. When he showed up, it was obvious that the woman was not happy with his presence. Without thinking, she approached them as soon as he had grabbed her. She knew she had no idea what was going on with the two of them, and if either of them even wanted to be interrupted, but she just couldn’t stand to see a man put his hand on a woman like that. Especially the woman she had been admiring for the past hour.

 

Scully met her imploring look and smiled. The fact that Mulder was angry at the interruption made it all the more welcome. She could guess the intention of the woman was to diffuse whatever altercation she saw between them, and she thought it was kind of sweet. Not to mention, the woman was beautiful. Tall, olive skin, long wavy hair. Scully looked past her delicate profile to see Mulder seething.

 

The bartender leaned over to the woman to take her order. She pointed to Scully’s empty beer bottle and said, “I’ll try one of those.”

 

“I’ll take another, too, and you can put them both on my tab,” Scully said, smiling at the woman.

 

“Oh, thank you.”

 

Mulder’s head jerked to them. Did Scully just buy this woman a drink? Didn’t they have a lot to talk about? A conversation that _he_ started, by the way. And does this lady think she is protecting Scully from him or something? That would be ridiculous. No one knows their relationship, and no one outside of it should judge it.

 

Mulder is the last person that would want to hurt Scully. But, isn’t that exactly what he’s done? Not physically, of course, but emotionally. And deep. Was this her trying to hurt him back?

 

The bartender returned with the beers. Scully took both of them, her coat draped over her arm, and leaned into Mulder. “Sir, you can have this seat, if you want.” She motioned to a nearby table, and the two women left Mulder standing at the bar.

 

As they sat, the woman said, “So, he was just a creep hitting on you?”

 

Scully and Mulder stared daggers at each other. “Yeah, just a creep,” Scully said. Then she turned her attention to the woman, knowing Mulder was watching. She put her hand on her knee, and said, flirtatiously, “Thank you for saving me.”

 

The woman blushed deeply. The attention of this striking redhead, along with her hand on her leg was making it hard to breathe.

 

“It’s no problem, really. I’m Melissa, by the way.”

 

The name sobered her up a little bit, and suddenly she felt really foolish for how she handled Mulder.

 

“That’s a nice name.”

 

Melissa saw the change in her demeanor, so she didn’t press her for her name in return.

 

Mulder did not see Scully’s shift. He guzzled the rest of his stupid green beer, and started in on the second one.

 

“Listen, Melissa, he’s not just some creep. He’s my-- uh, we are having an argument, and I thought I’d use your gesture as a way to make him jealous. I’m sorry. You seem very lovely and nice, and I don’t want to take your kindness for granted,” she admitted. “Also, I’m a bit drunk.”

 

Melissa laughed. “I knew it was too good to be true. Thank you for telling me and not leading me on. I would’ve been very easily led by you.”

 

Now Scully blushed. She took her hand from Melissa’s knee, and pushed the hair out of her face. Melissa mourned the loss of contact.

 

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if you used me a little. To make him jealous, I mean.”

 

“No, I couldn’t,” Scully said. “But, thank you.”

 

Mulder finished the second beer and tossed some bills next to the empty glasses. He stood, the effects of the alcohol going straight to his head.

 

He walked up to their table. “Are you quite finished, Scully?” he asked with a patronizing attitude, hands turned upwards for emphasis.

 

“No, she is not finished,” Melissa said. Scully turned to Melissa in surprise. She leaned in and pressed her lips against Scully’s. Her lips were soft and warm, and Scully relaxed into her, placing her hand back on her leg, but higher up on Melissa’s thigh this time.

 

Mulder gawked. Under different circumstances, he would find this very arousing, but, now, it was making his blood boil in a different way.

 

The women parted, and Scully looked at Melissa, affectionately and dazed. She heard Mulder turn on his heel and walk towards the back of the bar. Melissa was staring at Scully’s lips wishing that wasn’t the only time she would be able to kiss them, but knowing it was.

 

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just reacted. I know it’s not my place.”

 

“No, no, no, it’s okay. Really. Obviously he’s not through being an ass, so I’m glad you did that,” Scully assured her. “But, I think I’m going to see if we can talk now.”

 

Scully stood and held out her hand. “Thanks, Melissa.”

 

“My pleasure.” They shook hands, Melissa savoring the touch. She watched Scully go back the way Mulder had. Gathering her things, she stopped to touch her fingers to her lips where the tingle of their kiss still lingered.

 

***

 

Scully waited outside the men’s bathroom, hands on her hips. Her time with Melissa had offered her some lucidity, but the way he behaved at their table still angered her.

 

He stumbled out of the door. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

 

“Mulder--”

 

“You’ve come to say goodbye before you go get tattoos and fuck to get my attention?”

 

Scully’s mouth fell open, and an unbearable pressure started to build in her chest.

 

“These games are getting really old, Scully. And, frankly, it’s childish.”  


“Fuck you!” Scully said, now more enraged than hurt.

 

A man turned the corner into the hallway where they were standing. Seeing them, he quickly backed away and left.

 

Scully pushed Mulder into the women’s room. It was a single and it was empty.

 

“I’m not playing games. _You_ are playing games, Mulder. And changing the rules. ‘Trust no one. I only trust you, Scully. Oh, wait, now I trust this random woman, too. And why so personal, Scully?’ Are you fucking kidding me?” she said, sharply.

 

Mulder looked at Scully. Her eyes were wild with anger. Her chest was heaving and her cheeks were tinged pink.

 

He crashed his lips into hers, and gripped the back of her neck hard. She pushed against his chest, but met his sloppy, aggressive kisses with her mouth.

 

“Fuck you, Mulder,” she choked out on a sigh, that threatened to become a sob.

 

“Yeah, fuck me, Scully.”

 

He pushed her against the door, fumbling to find the lock. Her hands remained on his chest, but her resistance was waning as she focused on their tongues jostling in the heat of their mouths.

 

He shucked her coat off, and pawed at her tits through her blouse. Scully’s hand moved down his chest to his crotch and gripped his erection. Mulder growled into her mouth.

 

She was unbelievably turned on by his hostility, and that fact scared her. No man has ever made her feel emotions so deep. Even rage. It was thrilling, and she wanted more.

 

She shoved him away, and walked over to the counter. She shimmied her underwear down to her knees, and hiked her skirt up, before lifting herself onto the sink.

 

“Guess it’s that time. Every couple years I fuck a psychopath to feel alive.”

 

Mulder felt nauseated, but that did nothing to lessen the arousal inside of him. His cock was so hard, it was painful. He looked at Scully, devastated that he had reduced her to this, but also predatorily. He needed to fuck her senseless because she was making too much sense, and the truth hurt.

 

As he undid his belt, Scully’s clit throbbed in anticipation. She craved the punishing assault of his cock on her cunt. She hated herself for being so weak, letting him walk all over her and play with her feelings. Maybe experiencing it physically in the form of brutal sex might shake something loose in her, allowing her to get some command over this toxic thing that had developed between them.

 

He pushed into her hard, his teeth on her neck, hands locked on her wrists pinning them to the mirror behind them. His thrusts were forceful, but she met them solidly with her pelvis each time, hip bones hammering.

 

“Harder.”

 

Mulder was already a little concerned that he was being too rough, but she seemed to be getting off on it. He upped his intensity. Releasing her hands, he gripped her shoulder with one hand and the other went to the sink for leverage.

 

“Fuck me harder, goddamn it,” she spat.

 

He squeezed the hand that was on her, his thumb pressing into her above her collarbone. It hurt and would leave a bruise. Physical proof. Proof that she always fought so hard for. Proof that he has been here, in her. In her soul. For years.

 

The pain felt redemptive and satisfying, and her climax overtook her. He could feel her cunt pulse around his length. He pushed into her once more, hard and deep, and came, grunting her name.

 

They allowed each other time to catch their breath, but avoided eye contact. Scully, finally pushed him away, and silently started to compose herself. Mulder leaned against the wall, pants at his ankles, dick out, wet and limp. Scully grabbed her coat off the floor and unlocked the latch.

 

“Scully.”

 

She was out the door before he finished the second syllable.

 

***

 

Scully had been lying in bed for hours, nowhere near the sweet relief of sleep. She was still wearing her blouse and underwear from earlier. They smelled like him. She hadn’t showered, wanting to keep him on her and in her for as long as possible. The angry and passionate spell would wear off both of them soon, and leave them in a sad wasteland with no map or compass. She needed what happened tonight to happen, but she was almost positive that it would ruin them. Flirting with disaster had been liberating and exhilarating, but the harsh reality of the consequences began to weigh on her as the boozy and seductive fog lifted.

 

She heard a knock on her door and knew it was him. With a thread of her courage from earlier still taut within her, she opened the door in her underwear and shirt.

 

He was also still in his clothes. Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but then paused, looking at her bare legs. What could it mean that she was still in those clothes? A spark of hope flashed in his chest.

 

“Jesus, Mulder, you look like shit.”

 

He was more than a little worse for the wear. Hair was sticking up askew, eyes were bloodshot, and his face was splotchy from consuming more alcohol after she had left.

 

“I feel like shit. May I come in?”

 

She moved aside. He stepped in and turned to her, taking her hands in his.

 

“Scully, I fucked up. I’ve been fucking up for years. I was always surprised that you stuck around and then at some point I stopped being surprised and started taking it for granted. I don’t know why you’ve put up with me for so long. I think deep down I know I’m not worthy, and I tried to push you away, for your own sake. But, you’re so goddamned stubborn. I don’t know how to handle this. You've stuck by me through so much, when you could've easily left. You probably should have left, if you'd have known what’s good for you.”

 

“I know what’s good for me.”

 

“Then why are you still here?”

 

She rose up on her tiptoes, taking his face in her hands, and kissed him softly.

 

His hands went to her waist as he kissed her back.

 

The kiss was innocent and chaste. Both of them needed it to be separate and distinct from the savage ones they tried to punish each other with earlier.

 

“Mulder, I needed to be clearer with my feelings. It’s no wonder you were confused. I instilled my trust in you, but I still kept my walls up, shutting you out. They are down now,” she said. “I think we fucked them down, actually,” she added, wryly.

 

He huffed out a relieved laugh.

 

“Scully, I’m sorry I got you to that point where you felt you had to do that.”

 

“I think I got myself there.”

 

“So, are we going to survive that public bathroom rage fuck? That was our first time, Scully,” he groaned, embarrassed.

 

“We’ve survived worse,” she said, kissing his chin. “And at least I got an orgasm out of it.”

 

“You were so wild, Scully. I couldn’t believe it.” His hands traveled lower, past the hem of her shirt, and cupped her ass.

 

She rubbed her body against him, and nipped at his neck, humming in agreement.

 

“You’re driving me wild right now,” she purred.

 

“Am I? Little old me?”

 

“If I remember correctly, you’re not so little,” she whispered as she pressed her hips against his stiffening cock. “Is that a leprechaun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

 

Mulder chuckled adorably against her neck. She smiled, proud of her Mulder-esque joke.

 

“No, it’s not a leprechaun, but it’s as hard as the Blarney Stone. Want to kiss it for good luck?”

 

Scully snorted. “Oh my God, Mulder. That’s bad, even for you.”

 

“You started it!”

 

She rolled her eyes and walked away from him toward her bedroom.

 

She tossed a look over her shoulder. ”Well, aren’t you coming?”

  
“I think there’s a pot of gold joke in there somewhere, but I’m not gonna push my luck.”


End file.
